


take comfort wherever you can

by brinnanza



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 07:07:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12249423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brinnanza/pseuds/brinnanza
Summary: It’s quiet when Sheppard comes to, and he can tell before he’s opened his eyes that it’s late. The only sounds are the faint beep of a heart monitor and an odd breathy sound he can’t quite identify. The sound continues for a few moments while Sheppard floats in the hazy cloud of painkillers and tries to take stock of this round’s collection of injuries.





	take comfort wherever you can

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt on [this list](http://brinnanza.tumblr.com/post/130839577231/nonsexual-acts-of-intimacy-select-from-the), reacting to the other one crying about something.

It’s quiet when Sheppard comes to, and he can tell before he’s opened his eyes that it’s late. The only sounds are the faint beep of a heart monitor and an odd breathy sound he can’t quite identify. The sound continues for a few moments while Sheppard floats in the hazy cloud of painkillers and tries to take stock of this round’s collection of injuries. 

Nothing hurts yet, but he has enough experience with the particular fog of morphine to know that it will. One of his arms is in a cast, and he can feel bruising around the IV in one hand. The peculiar empty feeling in his gut tells him he’s been out for a while, long enough to require an IV more substantive than a banana bag.

There’s a pause in the odd sound, followed by a sharp exhale and a thick voice saying, “Damn it, Sheppard, come on.”

Sheppard opens his eyes. McKay’s sitting in a plastic infirmary chair, his elbows on his knees and his head bent low. His hair is mussed and his clothes are wrinkled and his shoulders are shaking like he’s--

“Rodney?” Sheppard tries to say, but his voice comes out like a croak. He reaches out to touch McKay’s knee with his good hand.

McKay’s head snaps up. There are dark bags under his red-rimmed eyes, and his voice sounds almost as bad as Sheppard’s when he says, “John? God -- John--” He starts to reach out, but he thinks better of it at the last second and shoots to his feet. “I have to--”

Sheppard manages to get ahold of his sleeve before he can run off. He clears his throat and tries to speak again. “McKay, wait,” he rasps.

“Oh, um,” says McKay. He reaches for the pitcher of water on the bedside table and nearly knocks it over. He pours some water into a glass with unsteady hands and thrusts it at Sheppard. Sheppard tries to take it, but his hand shakes and some of the water slops over the rim of the cup. “Sorry, sorry,” McKay mutters, and he holds the cup so Sheppard can sip at it.

When he’s finished, McKay sets the cup on the table again. Sheppard expects something sarcastic -- “Have a nice nap?” maybe, or “Nice of you to join us, Colonel Sleepy Time” -- but McKay just wrings his hands in his lap, looking exhausted and far too pale.

“Hey,” says Sheppard softly, reaching out to grab McKay’s hand. “You don’t have to -- I’m okay.”

McKay’s hand twitches like he’s about to pull it back, and then he huffs out a breath. “This,” he says, gesturing with his free hand, “is not ‘okay’.” He swipes the back of his hand across his eyes and then takes a deep breath. “I have to -- Jennifer will want to know you’re awake.”

“Just a minute,” Sheppard says. The drugs are making everything a little fuzzy and threatening to drag him down into unconsciousness again, but he pushes it away and tugs on McKay’s hand. “C’mere.”

McKay frowns, looking uncertain, so Sheppard tugs again. “Come on. Just for a minute.”

There isn’t much room to maneuver in the tiny bed, but Sheppard scoots over as much as he can so McKay can curl up next to him. McKay is barely on the bed, balanced precariously on the edge. Any other time, he’d probably bitch about it, but he just pillows his head on Sheppard’s shoulder and tries to avoid snagging any of Sheppard’s medical wires.

Sheppard gets his good arm around McKay’s shoulders, pulling him in close. “Okay?” he says.

“This is ridiculous,” McKay says, wriggling around a little. “You’re the one that practically died; I should be comforting you.”

“Then I’d really be in trouble,” says Sheppard, his eyes slipping closed of their own accord. “You’re terrible at comforting people.”

“Ha ha,” says McKay. “Don’t do this again.”

“Someone’s got to be the hero.”

“So let someone else.”

“Rodney.”

“Alright, fine,” says McKay, sounding at last like his usual huffy, irascible self. “Still, I’d really appreciate it if you’d pull death-defying stunts like this slightly less frequently. Sleeping in these infirmary chairs is terrible for my back.”

“Mmm,” Sheppard murmurs noncommittally. The bed is so comfortable and Rodney is so warm beside him. They lie there for a while, just breathing, and Sheppard starts to drift off.

He’s most of the way asleep again when McKay stirs, starting to pull away. “Stop that,” says Sheppard, holding on to him.

“You’ve consoled me,” says McKay, extricating himself from Sheppard’s grasp. “I’m consoled. Now that I know you’re not dead, I can go back to my own bed. And Jennifer will want to know you’ve woken up.” 

That probably makes sense, but Sheppard is mostly asleep and on a lot of drugs, and it’s cold now that Rodney’s no longer pressed against him, giving off body heat like a furnace. “In a minute.”

“You said that a minute ago,” McKay points out. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” McKay squeezes Sheppard’s wrist briefly, and then the sound of receding footsteps fades into silence as Sheppard drifts off to sleep again.


End file.
